This past week, as I walked to my car in the early morning, I heard songbirds everyday. Soaring melodies and low laughs. The sun was just warming the horizon, adding its cast of morning orange to the black sky. This is how we do Spring in Washington, D.C. It’s slow. We’ll have a 70 degree day followed by four 40 degree days. The greening of the trees is slow and measured but once it begins, it is inevitable. Today, it is inevitable. While it will only be in the 60s today, the coming week will be all 70s. Even as I write on this Sunday morning, I hear birds singing and cackling outside. This morning, we moved the clocks forward and that seemed to jolt all of creation into the next season.
One of the many reasons I love this city is that Spring and Fall are the longest seasons. Winter is not endless. It’s not a lion. It’s a cat waiting to be scratched behind its years. Summer, though humid and hot, gallops through. Yes, July and August can be rough and warm. But perhaps because of the school schedule I’ve lived on all my life, they seem to walk briskly too. Then Fall takes us back in slowness.
Just now, the trees in Rock Creek Park and along Sligo Creek are budding out in a yellow that’s trying to be green. The birds, well they are fully into their Spring, gathering sticks, pulling up vines, readying nests. Soon students will get restless as graduation nears. On we go. Another year. One more step in the beautiful impermanence that is us.